


Driving Me Insane

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Anger, Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst, Arguing, As well as loyal, Band Fic, Best Friends, Crying, Declarations Of Love, Emotions, Epic Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Freddie's death is major still, Gen, Grief/Mourning, He's also sad though, He's sensitive under it all though, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Interviews, Irascible Roger, Modern Era, Old Age, Phone Calls & Telephones, Photographs, Platonic Kissing, Protective Brian May, Reconciliation, Reminiscing, Rog is emotional and John is emotional and honestly so am I guys, Sad, Sassy John, Sleepy Cuddles, Swearing, Texting, Touring, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: It's a simple fact of life that Roger Taylor needs John Deacon. He always has done, and continuing to see how people remember and love Freddie, how they still celebrate Queen, it cuts into him not to have his friend, his dear bass boy by his side. And yet still he says nothing.Until he doesn't, til he snaps. After which he feels like hell.  He's got to do something.(Or, at times Roger explodes with feeling and, well, at least he's got Brian)
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, Jim Beach & Queen (Ensemble), John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Roger Taylor
Comments: 84
Kudos: 65





	1. A Simple Fact of Life

Brian sends a pouty picture to Roger after they've been apart for a while when they're not on tour. Roger pulls it up and starts blinking really hard as he reads "Miss you, Rog!! - Bri"

Roger glowers and growls "What the fuck, Brian?"

He immediately heads to Brian’s place. It is late at night, so Roger is wearing pyjamas with a coat hastily thrown over them, hair ruffled and eyes bleary. 

Bangs on the door of Brian's house and stands there, and when his old friend pulls it open, eyes widening with delighted surprise, Roger holds up his phone and snaps without preamble, not even a hello: "What the fuck'd you send this for?"

Brian blinks, tries to pat down his tangled curls, crinkling his brow as he cocks his head. He is wearing his usual thin nighttime t-shirt and shorts, standing there with goosepimples popping up on his legs, not understanding what Roger doesn't understand. "I, well like I said, I miss you, Rog."

Roger stares at him.

Brian's mouth goes dry, he wonders what Roger is going to say, he looks angry-- and then Brian's air is gone as his friend runs full-bore into his chest, clutches the guitarist and mutters into his shirtfront with a heavy sigh "Bloody hell, I miss you too, Bri, but you know you can just call me on the phone or something. Instead of guilting me into coming over here for a bloody sleepover!”

"I--" Brian's eyes are pained. “Does that mean you’re staying then?”

Roger shuts his eyes and tightens his fist in the cloth of Brian's shirt at his lower back. Remembering the days when they lay close, piled together in their tiny flat for warmth and for fun; recalls all the nights on tour he came in drunk and late and Brian got him water and tucked him in; remembers the distance as they got older and had families and then loss and "Yeah," Roger croaks out now. He needs that initial closeness tonight. Needs things to be as they were before. "Yeah, if you fucking let me."

“Of course, Rogie. Always.”

And with that, Brian leads Roger into the guest room, where a comfortable Queen-sized bed is waiting for them.

Roger's heart lurches and tears fill his eyes as Brian lets, leads him in, arm awkwardly draped around Roger--because even after all this time the giant bastard is still so bloody unsure, it's infuriating. Roger hangs onto Brian's waist, telegraphing through touch his gratitude, since if he speaks again he'll probably fucking bawl, and no. He's Roger Taylor, he doesn't lose his shit like that.

But he does. Of course he does.

And Brian completely understands.

***

Roger wishes John did. Wishes the wanker could keep in bloody touch, but no, of course not. That's too much, too fucking painful. He was done, he's been done, and Roger fucking misses him.

But he's still so fucking furious.

_"John? He's a sociopath."_

Roger says it, in an interview, on the air. He instantly regrets it because that's their own shite, the band. Not something anyone in the goddamn press needs to hear. They've always been private, like Fred, since Fred-- Roger's eyes bulge and he gasps. Can't help it. It's just that John clearly doesn't care about his feelings, or Brian's, because he has never tried reaching out. He, they both miss him so much--

The drummer is up and stomping out then, and he can't look at Brian when he meets him in the hallway afterward. Roger glances upwards and sideways to see Brian's face looking so woebegone, pinched and sorrowful and disappointed. That look is breaking Roger's heart. He gulps, and then he loses it. Just fucking loses it on Brian, running into him and clutching him and sobbing, and Bri murmurs "Oh Rogie..." before wrapping his arms round the shorter man as Rog cries like his heart is going to break. Bri gives him a kiss on the forehead. 

Roger is shaking as he clutches Brian's shirt and buries his face in it. He chokes out "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Brian, I can't believe I could, that I said ..." His lips are moving against the skin of Bri's chest as he continues apologising. "Damn it, I'm sorry." _I wish Deaks fucking was, that he knew._

Brian holds him tighter, rocking his friend a bit as he presses his cheek against Roger's hair. "I know, Rog. I know. But I love you, alright? I know what you meant, what you're feeling. I wish you hadn't said it, but I know why you did. Shh, there now."

Roger gulps and whimpers, and starts crying harder, if that is possible. His head thuds against Bri's torso as he grabs on and snarls "but I said-- goddamn, I said the WORST thing, and I don't believe it; not really. But fuck, Brian," he whimpers again, raising bleary blue eyes that look like shattered panes of glass. The sight of his tear-washed face breaks Brian's heart. "He obviously doesn't care how we feel, because if he did, he wouldn't have left us--god, this, it HURTS."

Bri reaches up and strokes the drummer's hair, throat bobbing as he swallows, voice rough. "I know, Roger," he says. "Sometimes I... well I dunno how we can survive it, really." Roger winces, flinches back like his friend had struck him.

"And I don't fucking help, do I?" He tries to pull completely away, but Brian stops him.

"Maybe not, but nor do I. And I do know that we will get through this." Brian's voice wobbles as his hazel eyes are piteous. "We've got to." Maybe they can reach out to John, who knows? He might answer them, this time.

Roger closes his eyes and nods jerkily, even as he knows precisely what Brian is thinking and is certain Deaks won't do it. That ship has long since sailed. The drummer lets out an exhausted, overwrought sob. Brian lifts his hand to cup Roger's face, and the shorter man catches hold of his wrist. His response is but a thread. "... Alright, Brian."

"Yeah?" Brian tries to smile, feeling hopeful as he strokes Roger's cheek with a thumb and then kisses his forehead again as Roger opens his eyes and nods to him. They will be all right. Surely, they must be after all this time.

They've got to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Roger did refer to John as a sociopath once in an interview, out of such hurt, I think. It was an awful thing to say, though, and I needed Roger to recognise that here
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	2. That Happens to Everyone....

Roger creates posts with pictures of his past, with memories, not nearly so often as Brian. Hardly ever by comparison. But whilst in Japan for a tour, he feels he must. For the sake of nostalgia, perhaps; but mostly because he vividly recalls how many fantastic times he had with his mates there, in '74 (or was it '75? Damn memory, Roger hates getting old) and '80. Time becomes elusive as one ages, as do specific numbers of years. He DOES know he was there for _Sheer Heart Attack_ and _The Works_. 

He posts up pictures of John the most in his story, a tiny bit of bitterness twingeing in his chest, sharp smile rising to his lips that bares his teeth even as it dampens his eyes. Roger's fingers are shaking a bit on his phone keys and sweat congeals on his wristbands, and suddenly he is back on that roof overlooking mountains and villages. Nearly feels the wind ruffle his hair. He'd folded his arms close to his chest, and can almost feel John's warmth behind him, the slippery starched cloth of his shirt, smell the tang of leather and feel the heaviness of John's jacket. And if he tilts his head up, Rog can so easily see that fluffy brown hair of his friend's, thick dark strands escaping out of John's shirt collar. Those gentle pale hands clasping his shoulders as that gentle light laugh peals out, crinkling the bassist's entire face as Roger'd shift and curse and nearly lose his balance.

"Fuck!"

But Deaky always caught him then; he was always there.

***

They'd gone onto a game show after that particular break. John stayed close, saying his bandmate was the prettiest man of all the ones who parade through the room. It was like a Mister Japan contest where they were judged--and the winner received a signed copy of Queen's newest album. 

Roger saw clearly John's grinning face, but everyone else was blurry and facial features weren't all that distinguishable without his glasses on. So Roger slapped John's knee when he was chosen by his friend in that sweet yet cheeky way, and did his damnedest to be fair by picking out the contestant in the centre. John went along with his choice completely. "Congratulations, Mister Handsome," he said with a polite bow, still beaming. Loyal, cheeky, loving man.

A lump comes to Roger's throat. They always had such a great time together, it was so much fun. Can it truly be too much for John to reach out or come round still, even twenty-odd years later? He remembers the look on his dear friend's face as the lights went out when they finished 'No One But You'. 

When the camera zoomed in on that champagne glass sitting atop the piano, Roger glanced at John and saw agony in his face; his eyes were screaming without sound. 

And that was when Roger knew, without a doubt, that John was done. 

But bloody hell does he miss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I saw pictures from Japan on Roger's recent Instagram story, along with the one he posted of John and himself on a break during The Works tour. Of course, I wonder what was going through his mind.
> 
> *John and Roger were on an absolutely hilarious game show and they were adorable. Rog not seeing the people on the show clearly is my own thought based on how often he squinted and how long he took to answer some things. John did point at him when asked who was the prettiest :P
> 
> *I remember watching the music video for "No One But You" and John's expressions really struck me. He really did seem to be in agony all throughout, poor fellow
> 
> This is incredibly bittersweet. Comments appreciated <3


	3. You Win, You Lose

Roger is so tired of this shite.

He is tired of the silence, of going out on tour with Bri and Adam too, now, and having people just stare into the middle distance and huff air and say nothing. Miami is one of those who doesn't say much, not at first. He takes the sheets of numbers that indicate their royalties and revenues from concerts and tours, and the movie now too. John works the numbers, or at least the drummer has not heard any different. But it's still Queen on the can, it's their label with Lambert, even as the bassist they now have remains in shadow. 

Brian introduces him at times, along with the other musicians they've got; yet it seems tawdry and fake, somehow. It's still fun, and the fans have such a good time coming out, the ones who do. So that's a win for them. But something is missing.

Miami tells Roger and Brian about it one day. Demands to know whether or not they remember their other band member, the one who may not want to be in the limelight anymore, but who is nevertheless still here doing their accounts.

The last thing they would want to do is disrespect Freddie and John, but by using the title of Queen, what if they are? What if John feels forgotten, even though he fucking wanted to be, the wanker. Roger feels this worry niggling at the back of his mind even as he gets incensed and tells himself (and Freddie) they're making him proud. 

He remembers an early performance, when John was still uncomfortable onstage. He never really got comfortable, not without a drink in his hand or a bottle behind his amplifier. Roger had grabbed him, and still remembers John's eyes lighting up, that soft voice hushed even more in amazement.

"Roger, you handle this--this life so much better than me. Onstage and... everywhere, you're so exuberant," he had said.

"Shut it, Deaky, you're fucking fantastic," Roger recalls snapping and moving so swiftly, intent. John jumps and doesn't realise what's happening until Roger's hands are on his waist and his back is pressed to the wall as the drummer presses their bodies together and pins his eyes on John's.

"Oh," John's legs are starting to buckle as he clutches Roger's shoulders. "...Rog, how many drinks have you had?"

Roger stares at him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed and one hand curling around John's chest and shoulder, the other still on his waist. His high husk is a soft and gentle growl as he whispers "Not a one. You smell any alcohol on my breath yet?" John shakes his head then, long dark hair whispering against his open waistcoat. "See, John, I don't need a fucking drink to be able to tell how bloody amazing and talented you are."

He had pressed his body against John's then, lifting one hand to stroke the bassist's hair as his voice caught just a little. "Dunno why you have to do that to see yourself the way I see you." He'd wrapped both arms around the bassist and hugged him then, so hard. Recalls wondering if he squeezes John tightly, tightly enough, perhaps he can give him some belief in himself. Right. "--Because I can see you, no matter how shit my eyes are."

He still sees John's brilliance too, even at the age of seventy. Even doing all the mad theatrics of, during their newest show. As he hears the bassline from their perfectly adequate player, it puts a lump in Roger's throat and causes his hands to shake, his ears to roar. He focuses so hard on his parts at times to block out the awful roaring silence that is meant to hold the sound of John's bass. Consistent, vibrant, true. Brian misses that too, Roger knows he does; but he also isn't going to fucking talk about it or moan over friends come and gone and what should have been. They still have music left to play, work left to do. And he loves doing it still. This band remains his life.

It is just a hard life without John here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger is having some seriously mixed emotions...
> 
> I've noticed in videos of Queen + Adam Lambert on tour, the bassist they sometimes use remains in shadow, as do any other musicians they have (at least til Brian introduces people, often before he sings '39). I wonder if that is another representation of how much they miss John
> 
> *I've learned John still does finances for Queen, helping Miami. Wonder what he thinks about the touring, if anything?
> 
> *It is documented that John had a makeshift bar behind his amp onstage in order to handle performing
> 
> I wrote Roger wondering if they're being disrespectful out of musings because (as I've already mentioned the fact this is bittersweet), I can't help but wonder if he and Brian ever harbour doubts inside about continuing not only the band, but CALLING it Queen--despite only half its members being part--whether they voice said doubts or not.
> 
> I just want them all to be happy, John too
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. It's a Chance You Have...

"Are you certain about this, Roger?"

Roger looks into Brian's face, those expressive eyes with skin around them crinkling in fond worry, his face tipped forward and down as he looks closely at Roger, that cloud of hair enveloping his features as always, looking so soft that the drummer automatically wants to bury his fingers in it. But no, not now. This is serious. He's going to ask Miami for John's current phone number. Probably strong-arm it out of him, more like. 

Of course he just HAD to go and tell Brian first....

"No," the drummer now scoffs. "Of course I'm not fucking certain, but I'm tired of this bloody silence, and Miami knows the number so I'm gonna get it out of him!"

Brian's eyes are pained now, his mouth thins, but he nods in understanding. "I get that, Rogie, believe me. But we do have to consider what John wants."

Roger's breath heaves and he explodes. "BOLLOCKS to what John wants! We've been catering to his arse for _years_ \--and besides, it isn't like I'm going to drag his arse out in the street and parade around! I just want to talk to him again, for fuck's sake! I... I need to hear his voice, damn it." He lifts a shaky hand to run across his mouth and over his beard, blinking hard. _I have to take this fucking chance, Brian. I still love him. Don't you understand?!_

"Oh, Roger." Brian steps closer, reaching out to the other. "I understand, mate. But I want you to be prepared because he-- he may not answer back," Brian speaks gently, resting a hand on his shorter friend's shoulder.

Roger jerks away, glaring balefully. Angry at John, at Brian, at Miami, at the world; yet he is mostly angry with himself. He should have told John to stuff it when he said he wanted to be left alone. Should have said _"Alright you can say bollocks to the band, but we are FAMILY. I won't let you turn your back on us, John. You need us, and we need you. Damn it, I need you."_ He hadn't spoken up, though; he had been too angry, was hurting too much. So this silence is his fault as much as John's because he hadn't tried to stop it as it began. His lips twitch a little now and he looks up at Brian, sorrowful, worried giant. "Oh, Bri, I have to do this," he growls. "You understand, yeah?"

Brian blinks, and then the big-hearted man wraps his arms tightly around Roger. "Oh, Rogie, of course I do." He puts his hands on Roger's shoulders and looks down into his eyes with concern and fondness. "Just-- be careful, yes? Keep your heart." 

It's a strangely put quiet, potent sentiment, but Roger knows it means for him not to be too discouraged, to take care of himself. This time. The drummer snorts and pats his mate on the back. Him and his big mind and gentle heart always trying to help. "Yeah, alright," Roger says back. 

Brian squints sharply at him. "That isn't good enough," he says, making the other man let out a laugh. Even as Brian adds "--I mean it. I still need you, Roger. And if this doesn't go well... I - I need reassurance that you'll still come back to me."

Roger's laughter peters out as he recognises what Brian is saying. He cannot lose another friend. "Okay," Roger's high voice grows soft as he looks up into the face of this impossible man. "I promise not to freak the fuck out if John doesn't talk to me. That work?" 

The tall guitarist beams, his whole face crinkling in a smile of relief as his shoulders relax. He tightens his hug. "Yes, it does. Thank you, Rog."

Roger rolls his eyes with fondness and grips Brian's arm and back, pushing his face into his friend's chest as he mumbles "Sod off, you're fucking welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger is done taking this. He's upset, and though I totally respect and understand John wanting to be out of the band and the limelight, I really see where Roger is coming from. Because by all accounts they WEREN'T just a band, they were a family who loved each other, and that love doesn't just go away. Especially if you chose these people to be your family. I think that bond is particularly intense and strong. 
> 
> I just really hope something like this has happened/will happen, that Rog can talk to John, or he and Brian can send letters. Something. They miss their bass boy, it's abundantly clear :'(
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	5. To Take With Love

Roger is cursing.

Cursing and tossing objects around the room, grumbling and growling in fury after learning about yet ANOTHER bunch of paps and prats who'd seen John on the street and chased him down with cameras flashing. Because of course no one can leave well enough alone. Why can't people leave him the fuck alone, even now? Even in interviews with Roger and Bri about Lambert, or the film, or anything, people are always commenting on "the Queen members who are left" or saying "what would John think?". Or, even worse, not remembering who John is. Just talking about the bassist. Or leaving him out entirely.

It's a complicated mess they've got. More than that, it's a cluster fuck. Because there are things like the youngest Deacon boy's Livestream videos, and whatever Roger thinks and feels about their validity, he gets a sour feeling in his stomach whenever he hears about them. People should respect John's wishes for privacy. 

Roger just wants to say hello. John can be as bloody private as he wants, as he chooses--he had left, left the band behind of his own accord. 

Roger in his vitriol snarls "He asked for it, being part of the band and then ditching. That's his fucking fault." 

Instantly feeling awful after, Roger clenches one hand and picks up his cellphone. Holding it away from his face and working his lips, he dials up the number Miami had reluctantly given him. It is a landline, and Roger doesn't know what he expects to hear, as folks don't fucking use landlines anymore. Here's to the future! 

But what he didn't expect, somehow, was to hear John's voice, that particular accent saying "You've reached the Deacons. Uhm, sorry we can't make it to the phone as of now, but leave a message at the beep."

Roger can hear the stops, the way John smacks his lips when he speaks; it's all there, still, and after the beep sounds there is a roaring in Roger's ears and he's gasping out in tears "Johnny, it's Roger. I'm sorry, I got fucking pissed again, still am, but you have every bloody right to live your life--" he tries to swallow his emotions as he continues: "Heard the latest bit of news about you. Well, what passes for news in this fucking day and age. God, what-- what bastards, John. Are you alright? I hope you are, and the family is too. Tell Ronnie I said hullo, alright? If you want. Brian says 'hi'. He misses you, believe that. And alright look, you're going to be right miffed that I called, I know. I forced Miami to give me your number, so don't get on him. I just needed to see...ah fuck, I'm no good at this, Deaky. I'm still so angry, I'm always so fucking angry and I know you deserve better than that. Than me." Wiping his cheeks and taking a shuddering breath, high voice catching in his throat, the drummer whispers "...You deserve Freddie, and I'm sorry he's not here. Sorry I'm not him." 

Time is winding down on the message, Roger knows, and he needs to wrap it up. There is so much he has been wanting to say, but now that he's actually saying it, he can't get all the words out. There is a void on the other end of the phone line, that ever-so-slight constant buzzing phones do and nothing else. Typical, right? Bit like John himself, nearly bloody silent.

"Look, John. I just wanted to reach out, see how you've been. Don't have to answer, not sure you will, I just. I thought I hated you," he blurts. The message had run out of time and beeped again, shutting itself off, so Roger is leaving another one. "For years I thought so. I've said some things, some really shitty things, John. And I'm sorry, because I realised I don't hate you. I could never hate you. No matter how bloody much I wanted to, 'cause it'd hurt less." His high voice now cracks as he barks out a laugh. "But I just want you to know we miss you. Bri and I. Not just when we're performing, all the time." Roger sniffles now. "So you--you take care of yourself. Okay, buddy? We'll keep on making music, and thinking of you and Fred, and..." Roger closes his eyes, tears glazing his cheeks and dripping into his beard as he tries to keep his voice steady. "You just keep on living well, bass boy." _Love ya,_ he aches to say but it's too much to bear, so he heaves out a wobbly breath and hangs up the phone, his lips and fingers shaking. 

He hopes John hears these messages, that he'll listen and know without a shadow of a doubt, how much Roger loves him still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figured Rog might need some help pouring his heart out, and what better way than by leaving two long messages on John's answering machine?
> 
> I have the thought in my head that John walked in on the second message and was so shocked he listened to it and didn't pick up, and then he went back and listened to the first. Oh, I hope something like this has/can/will happen and they'll talk to each other again someday.
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments appreciated <3


	6. Knock Me Down, You Come Again

John thinks of his mates, when one of his sons says something incredibly quick-witted, or his daughter laughs and her entire face lights up. Even when his wonderful wife sits down at their piano to play.

John doesn't play anymore. He can't-- he says it's been too long, but really, it hurts too much. As does anything that has to do with music, with Queen. He can still run numbers for Miami because he just does the math. Works out where the money goes. He isn't thinking about Fred or Bri or Rog, and how much he misses them.

Because he does miss them, so much. 

He still feels a sharp ache around his heart, physical pain when he remembers Freddie and that he is gone, because the cruelty of memories is that they care not for grief. They continue to pop up mercilessly. If John hears a song, or sees a child in sparkly trainers-- it's even worse if they've got blond hair. He sees information, articles on new discoveries in various branches of science, and at times the world outside looks perfect for a photograph. He feels his heart leap, feels that he could tell Roger something that had happened today, hear his raucous pealing laugh; feel Freddie's warm arm wrap snug around his shoulders, his lips pressing to John's cheek; and Brian would smile in that real gentle way he had where his long teeth would catch a bit on his lower lip before snapping a picture, his lengthy hands sure and graceful. 

And then John loses all the warmth and contentment in a rush as he remembers Fred is dead and Brian and Roger have gone. For they are gone as surely as his playing is done--because he wanted it. He had asked them to let him go, to leave him be. And they had done it, moved on. They've been respectful of his wishes all these years; his wishes made because seeing them, being with them, having the memories hurt too much. 

But it all hurts too much, still. 

John had thought the agony would ease, he'd been told that "time heals all wounds" which he can hear Roger scoff over and call bullshit on. John's lips quirk upward in a little smile. He is inclined to agree: time doesn't heal, it either passes and you get used to the wounds you've got, or you don't. Time marches on either way, caring naught. John wants to snort at that, a melancholic thought worthy of Brian.

John can nearly hear Freddie's fond scoff as he tosses his head, that black hair long, like it was in the seventies, in John's mind. _"Oh don't be so dramatic, darling!"_ he would say. John sees him with his moustache now, eyes glinting, the stache trembling and quirking up as he chuckled. And then John sees him hollow-cheeked, skin off-colour, body grown so incredibly fragile even as it held such a strong spirit. Sees Freddie slowly look up and hears him whisper _"I still love you."_ John wants to cry, to bawl, to scream out everything because his dear friend is gone, but then... 

Then his mind shows him Roger, winking at him; flicking out his tongue and laughing, sharing his last cigarette. Passing John a drink and crowing over his magnificence and wrapping his arm around the bassist's shoulders. Barrelling into John for a hug, smelling of smoke and sweat and a bit of stage makeup, screeching _"You were bloody BRILLIANT, buddy boy!"_ and then they both would dissolve into giggles at his unintentional alliteration.

And Brian. Tall Brian, looming Brian. That black cloud of hair darker than any words he said to John, he knows that now; sees Brian's long fingers on his own guitar, and then on John's bass, cradling it, carrying it to safety when he'd flung it offstage that time Fred had told him he might not be here forever... No. Brian. Bri had tended to the bass for John, biting his lip, those melancholy eyes so piteous and sweet. He'd held John before, carried him to bed, tied up his arm when he'd bled everywhere after going through that glass--and John recalls Brian's soft smiles and little gentle glances, how he'd shift closer in interviews, automatically granting some quiet support. Big friendly giant. John regrets not seeing that when Bri seemed so demanding, for he's just as much a perfectionist as John is. Was. Had been with music. 

But all that is behind him now, though he can still remember. He can do nothing BUT remember as he walks through his house alone when his wife is out, trying to find something to do, some gadget to fix. He still hates to be idle. Knows what they say about idle hands all-too-well.

But his hands freeze as the phone rings and rings again, and before he can go into the kitchen to answer it, he hears a voice. An achingly familiar voice, Calling him by name, seemingly across the years, a version of his name only one soul has ever uttered. 

"Johnny, it's Roger," the familiar voice says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *John apparently did throw his bass offstage after a concert in the mid-eighties, and Freddie said something about not being around forever. From information given to me, it was in Knebworth after a performance of "Radio GaGa". (Thanks for the additional insight, Hollymoonstone)
> 
> *In 1977 John, believed to be drunk after a show, put his arm through a glass door and needed nineteen stitches
> 
> I've tried to write from John's perspective, showcasing his grief. I hope this was respectful; I really don't know if I should write more or leave it here. What do you think?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	7. A Tricky Situation

Roger Taylor is remembering. 

Funny thing, the internet recommending videos to him, and he clicks on them, out of curiosity, of course--this time ending up with Freddie belting out lyrics dramatically in the forefront of some darkened stage: _"I doooon't want my freeeedom, there's no reason for liiiiiving with a broken heart...,"_

Oh, Christ. Not this fucking video. 

Roger thinks of John as the lights come up and there he is in his silvery-grey unicorn knight costume with that ridiculous long prehensile tail, staying at Roger's side for the entirety of that abysmal affair. 

Freddie was in his element, of course; and Roger still swears his ruddy costume in the fucking video was payback for the tight leather skirt Fred protested against in 'I Want To Break Free' --even though THAT outfit made some actual bloody sense, as Deaks had written the song about the response to the Women's Movement. Whereas this shite made absolutely no sense then or now. Fred's thousand-eyed alien fucking prawn suit and Roger's ruff both remain the stuff of nightmares. He felt like a dog in that damned thing, while Brian got to look not only cool but somewhat respectable. Ruddy Angel of Death, he got to embody, the tosser. And John too had looked good, particularly when he posed on the steps with one leg bent, hand stretched flat against the pillar. Roger had gotten one good look while the cameras were rolling, but it had been enough.

He thinks about that now, recalls how he and John tried to scarper off set the once-- he is pretty sure his mouthed reply to John of "yeah, let's fuck off" is immortalised on film, of fuckin course. Fred would get the biggest kick out of that. It's a hard life.

A hard life now for entirely different reasons, one of which being glaringly obvious, whilst others, well. Not so much. Like the passage of time they are elusive. For the drummer, at least. Elusive as the hope he has done his best to banish yet still feels. He yearns to tamp it down, because then it wouldn't...it might not hurt so much when said hope is dispelled entirely, or lost, or... Let down isn't quite the word, and Roger is frustrated beyond words by not HAVING words when brainy Bri is always around to be a living thesaurus. It's fucking infuriating.

Something has to happen.

Something's gotta give.

***

John rewinds both of Roger's messages, again. If his answering machine was a record it would be worn down by now. If a tape it would have come unraveled. As it is, his wife asks what is he going to do, replay Rog's words forever? 

John feels as though Veronica is asking if he is going to replay the PAST forever, and if she is, he has no idea how to answer her. As usual he has no clue what to say, but it is more than that.

It has been more than that for quite a long time, just takes a jolt like this for John to realise. When he hears Roger say how much he misses him, he and Brian both, and he wants John to "keep on living well", John feels like screaming _"WELL WHY ON EARTH DID YOU LET ME LEAVE, THEN?!?"_

Roger was never the sort to back down, he said and did as he thought, wanted, and pleased, for his mates and always. So if he never wanted John to leave....

Fingers shaking but mind resolved, John winds back the messaging machine one last time to go into the memory of it and ferret out Roger's telephone number. Well, the number he had called from. John knows he should be careful; what if this isn't Rog's personal line, and someone else answers? Well if they find out who he is there will just be a bigger frenzy, press photos and tabloids and speculation anew.

But looking into his wife's eyes as she squeezes his arm before she exits the kitchen, and feeling what is within his own heart, John Deacon knows what he is doing.

He types in the number and puts the handset shakily to his ear, hearing its rings echo and re-echo through his head. He nearly hangs up but then a scratchy high voice answers "'Lo? Rog Taylor speaking, unless this is one of those bloody telemarketers, in which case my name is Go Fuck Yourself."

John is surprised into letting out a peal of laughter, and Roger almost drops his phone in stupefaction.

"...John?" He croaks, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head, blinking rapidly. "Blimey, mate, is that really you?"

"Yes, it's me, Roger," John speaks softly, laughter petering out. 

"Whoa, well how the hell are ya?" The drummer crows. 

"Fine. Look, Roger, why did you--" John ceases speaking but then forges ahead. He has to ask what he had called to ask, after all. "After all this time, why did you decide to call me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Roger apparently loved the song "It's A Hard Life" and absolutely LOATHED the music video. Upon watching closely i definitely can see his lips mouthing "yeah, let's fuck off" to John, haha
> 
> *Freddie apparently had to be wheedled into wearing his iconic outfit for "I Want To Break Free", and so nobody can tell me this wasn't payback for Rog having that idea :P
> 
> Ooh John called Roger! What now?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	8. ... I'm Falling Apart

Roger stares, even though John of course cannot see him. He hears the other man's heavy breathing through the phone line. "Why? Well fuck, John--"

"No," John's voice is already louder, even though it shakes. "Don't tell me you missed me, that you just wanted to say hullo."

"What-- even if that's the fucking truth??" Roger spits out, his hackles rising at John's tone. Oh, no, he should've prepared himself for this....

"Is it?" John's voice is acerbic. "Really, Rog? Now, right now, as you're touring as Queen, again, with that young man, Lambert, and meanwhile I've been working your accounts for YEARS--"

"Bloody hell, Brian and I have been emailing and writing you for years! You never answer any of our messages except with punctuation, what the fuck do you think we're going to be doing?? And Lambert is fantastic, by the way. He's no Freddie, but we have a lot of fun, and you ought to fucking be more than our accountant anyway, John!"

"Then why the fuck did you let me leave, to just --to solely be one?!"

"I--we thought that was what you wanted! You SAID that was what you wanted!"

"You could have stopped me!"

Roger scoffs. "Oh, right, Deaky, like that would go over well. I fucking remember 'Back Chat' and what you think of people stopping you from doing what you want."

John's breaths are heaves and his tone of voice is a hiss. "Oh, you're bringing that up now? Fine, _Brian_."

"Bullshit, John, I'm not Brian, and you KNOW that's not Brian-- he never once said a damn thing about that fucking song! And you know what, he misses that, your pushback. He misses you, you stubborn bastard! _I_ miss you, or did you not listen to my messages?"

"Oh I listened."

"And?"

"And you still haven't answered my question, Roger! Why did you call me?"

Roger closes his eyes. His heartbeat is buzzing and his chest hurts, and all he wants to do is tell John to piss off, but underneath that vitriol is a plea from his mate, he can hear it. And he needs to get all of this out somehow, now that John has asked.

And he's not hanging up yet, or hasn't done so thus far, which is huge.

"John," Roger strides back and forth in his own kitchen, pushing at his screen door to go onto the balcony, and then coming right back in. "I don't know what else to say, except I miss you. I should've told you that you weren't fucking leaving, that I wouldn't let you, but I-- I didn't. It fucking hurt, John. The fact you actually said that you were going, you couldn't do this anymore, and then you went through with it, I thought you really didn't give a fuck. You couldn't go see Fred, you couldn't stick things out with us, I thought-- well who gives a fuck what I thought, I was awful and obviously fucking wrong. But I felt betrayed, Deaky. I lost my best friend, only to have my other best friend piss off without a backward glance, seemed like. But then I realised, you-- you must've been hurting, so much, and I didn't see it. Or no, I just didn't do anything about it. Neither did Brian, and that still tears him up, 'specially when he's had a few beers and calls me, crying. Least you haven't had to deal with that, eh? Small blessings." Roger thinks he hears an amused snort on John's end, but isn't certain. So he presses on. "I just...the way things are going, I really miss you, John. I always have done, but going out on another tour, back to Japan, all the memories came on like mad and I know how much you loved it there... Like--like dearest Freddie did," Roger now chokes up, losing his voice to tears. He fucking hates it, but he cannot stop. Can't hold them back any longer.

John's chest is clenching as he hears Roger's muffled cries, the only quiet thing about him, really. And he hates that he'd snapped, gotten angry; this is the first time he speaks to Rog in decades, and he shouts at him? Really? If he was with Roger, all he would have to do is put a hand on his shoulder, stroke his fingers through Roger's hair. Short and white, now. Huh. Strange to imagine. But he hears the sincerity in Roger's tone, as well as the love. He clears his throat and says to him "Rog, it's alright. I--I'm sorry, and I'll forgive you if you want me to, if you need that. We all loved Japan, didn't we?" He asks, so soft.

Roger sniffles, voice gravelly with emotion. "Yeah, Deaks, we did. And I realised how much I still do." 

The way he frames those words is a declaration of love for Roger. John can tell it's his way of saying _I realised how much I still love you._ John's heart swells and his eyes fill. A weight lifts from his shoulders, helping him settle, and his fury is gone in a blink, eyes crinkle as he smiles and softens. This is his dear friend, his Roger. Even after all the intervening years, no matter what happens--still they understand each other. "I'm glad, really glad, Roger. I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are at the end.
> 
> Thanks to Queen, and to my friend who hashed out some of the ideas in this piece with me.
> 
> I respect John's decision to leave Queen behind, but I wish (and hope) he would/will get in touch with Brian and Roger somehow. It is perfectly clear to me they both miss him, so much. Especially with the recent stories and posts on each of their official Instagram accounts
> 
> I respect all three of these men very much and really hope that respect is in evidence here. They really do love each other.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this piece. Comments appreciated <3


End file.
